


The Boy Who Fell Through The Sky

by bobblemonkey2



Category: Howl Series - Diana Wynne Jones, Howl no Ugoku Shiro | Howl's Moving Castle, Howl's Moving Castle - All Media Types
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Howl before Howl's Moving Castle, bookverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:14:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27477865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobblemonkey2/pseuds/bobblemonkey2
Summary: Howl Pendragon wasn't always his name. But exactly how did Howell Jenkins become the most infamous wizard in all of Ingary? Set two years before the events of Howl's Moving Castle, this story reveals just how Howell came to find himself in a world unlike his own.
Relationships: Sophie Hatter/Howl Pendragon
Comments: 7
Kudos: 25





	1. In Which Howell is Introduced

**Author's Note:**

> All characters except OCs belong to DWJ. Set before HMC. This fic is basically me satisfying my own curiosity about Howl's backstory - and I expect it to be full of unlikely twists and turns as it unfolds. I'm planning on making this a couple of chapters long, so make sure to bookmark if you want to read the whole thing :) Also I'd love to know how you guys think Howl ended up in Ingary (we'll see if it matches my story!)

Howell Jenkins had always been odd. From the moment he came out of his mother’s womb, to the time this story takes place in, he never seemed to fit in with his peers. For one, he was born with a great mass of mousy-brown hair, while his older sister, Megan, had been born with none - even his father, Jon, had been bald by the age of 30, and his mother had only wisps to speak of. At school, he had been the introverted type, always with his nose stuck in some fantasy book, be it Lord of the Rings or the Chronicles of Narnia. ‘I want to be a wizard when I grow up,’ he told his mother, Joyce, at age four. ‘There’s no such thing as wizards,’ she reminded him countless times, but it never seemed to stick. As he got older, he finally started to develop an interest in his father’s favourite sport (and Welsh birthrite), rugby; though he remained scrawny well into his teens, at which point he shot up like a maypole. At age 18, when most of his friends from the small Welsh town of Penarth went off to work in the quarry or down the mine, he chose instead to go to university - one of only sixteen from his year at school - to study Ancient and Medieval History, taking a particular interest in the history of witchcraft and wizardry. ‘You’re wasting your time with that degree!’ His sister had told him when he set off to Cardiff University for his first year of study - she had been perfectly happy to settle down at age 20 with a good Welsh husband, Gareth, the strong and silent type. But Howell refused to believe her, steadfast in his opinion that there was something greater beyond Penarth, and perhaps even this world, and that this degree would be his gateway to finding it.

‘Wake up you lazy sod!’ A voice rang in Howell’s head that drizzly Welsh morning that our story begins on - it was nearing summer, but by the weather you never would have guessed it.

‘Urgh!’ Howell moaned, rolling over in his bed and covering his head up with the quilt. You would also never have guessed that this man was 25 and nearly done with his PhD.

‘I said WAKE UP!’ The voice called again as his quilt was stripped away from him. It belonged to Rhys Jones, Howell’s best friend and flatmate, who was currently dressed in full rugby getup.

‘Let me sleep goddammit!’ Howell groaned.

‘Jesus, what time did you get in last night? And,’ he sniffed, ‘how much did you drink? You stink.’

‘How kind,’ He rolled back over to the other side to check his alarm clock. ‘Oh fuck!’ Howell wasn’t normally one to use expletive language - growing up it had been absolutely banned in his house, a rule that was enforced strictly by his staunchly Catholic parents. But today, Howell was late, and so swearing seemed to be the only reasonable response to this. ‘Why didn’t you wake me up earlier, you idiot?’ He said as he jolted out of bed and began scampering around his room for his rugby uniform.

‘Well I tried, but you sleep like a plank of wood, especially when you’re hungover,’ Rhys replied. ‘Serves you right for getting plastered the night before your thesis is due and the last match of the season,’ he snorted.

’You can get down off your high horse and all,’ Howell scoffed.

‘Where even were you last night?’ Rhys said calmly, feeling very pleased with himself.

‘Umm…’ Howell searched his memory as he rummaged through his desk for said essay, finally discovering it under a stack of books about the Pendle Witch Trials. ‘I went to The Queen’s Head with a few of my coursemates, then we went to The Duck and Swan, then I think we went to the SU, and then…’ he rubbed his head. ‘Oh God.’

‘What?’

‘I went back to Lydia’s house.’ 

A look of horror struck both their faces. ‘Lydia… O’Connell?’ Rhys asked.

‘Yep.’

‘Did you… you know?’

‘We did more than you know,’ he smirked before the shock set in again. Lydia O’Connell was one of Howell’s fellow PhD scholars, a gorgeous brunette with tight curls and wide brown eyes - she also happened to be dating Howell’s rugby captain, Daffyd Derwent, a gigantic 6 foot 5 inch sack of potatoes that could easily knock down 3 men with a single blow (Howell had seen him do it once after a rugby game). He had never liked Howell, but Lydia had always taken a shine to him, especially since they were both interested in the history of witchcraft. Given different circumstances, Howell could have seen himself marrying Lydia, but she and Daffyd had been together since school and she was quite devoted to him - well, was quite devoted to him.

‘Howell Jenkins you’re dead meat,’ Rhys’ mouth gaped open as he processed the news.

‘You don’t think she’d have told Daffyd already, do you?’ He almost didn’t want to know the answer.

‘Do you think Lydia is the secret-keeping type?’ The answer of course was no. ‘Well, at least hand in your essay before he kills you - that way you can die as Dr Howell Jenkins rather than just Howell.’

‘A small consolation.’ By this time, Howell had managed to shuffle into his creased rugby uniform and muddy trainers. His hair was messy and his face had a tinge of green to it, but there was no time for the usual amount of faffing and fixing in the mirror today (Howell was normally very into his looks).

‘Come on mate, let’s go.’


	2. In Which Howell Submits his Thesis and There Are Magical Musings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before heading to his rugby match, Howell has to drop off his doctoral thesis at his tutor's office, and the pair have a rather magical chat.

It was a brisk walk to campus, made even brisker by the fact that both men were running to ensure Howell didn’t miss his deadline. In the knick of time, they arrived at the History building where Professor Galveston was waiting patiently for his final student’s submission.

’Sorry about the time, sir,’ Howell huffed and puffed as he entered his tutor’s office.

‘Well at least you’re here,’ the Professor said in a nasal tone. Gavin Galveston was a small, plump man with a face that seemed to grow exceedingly red over Howell’s time at Cardiff. He always wore a pair of glasses perched at the tip of his nose, so far away from his eyes in fact that many of his students wondered if they were even for reading at all, or if rather they were just another artefact that made him more identifiable. He had always taken a special interest in Howell, and when the boy announced that his final thesis would be written on theories of interdimensional travel in postmodern thought, he had been the clear choice for a supervisor.

‘Well I best be o-‘ Howell began but was cut short by the Professor.

‘You know, lad, when you told me your plans for this thesis I wondered if such a project could even be completed - I see you’ve proven me wrong,’ he said with a slight smile forming on his puffy face.

‘I do try and make a point of proving people wrong,’ replied Howell with a nervous laugh. In truth, Professor Galveston was the only person Howell had ever found intimidating, at least on an intellectual level (because Daffyd Derwent definitely intimidated him physically).

‘And if I may ask, boy, what conclusions did you come to about interdimensional travel? Is it possible, do you think?’

‘Well, Professor, my paper is only theoretical - Nietzsche certainly had some odd ideas,’ he ran a hand through his uncombed hair, ‘but I’m not really in a position to say what’s possible or not.’

‘Hmm,’ the Professor pondered, and Howell wondered if this was his cue to go. ‘It would be nice wouldn’t it,’ he smiled at the mousy-haired man.

‘Of course - rather handy too.’ He could really do with dropping into another dimension today. ‘I really must get-‘

‘Before you go, lad, I’ve been meaning to show you this,’ Galveston got up tentatively from his chair and plodded over to one of many bookshelves behind him. He inspected the spine of a number of books, tracing each one with his fingers and looking as best as he could through those ridiculous glasses, until finding the one he was after. It was one Howell had read before, of course, Dr Simon Trouffant’s ‘Relics From Another World’ - you’d be hard pressed to find a book on theoretical inter-dimensional travel that he hadn’t seen - but this was a much dustier, more decrepit copy. ‘An original,’ the professor said proudly before sitting back down at his desk with the book. Carefully, he thumbed the pages, looking for something very specific. ‘Here!’ He exclaimed gleefully, pointing to a particular paragraph on portals.

’Sir, I’ve read this before, there’s a printing error on this page,’ Howell said, conscious that time was not on his side.

’Not in this copy - I’ve checked every other copy I could get my hands on to be sure and they all had the same error, but I bought this version from Dr Trouffant’s granddaughter, and she assures me it was the first.’

Howell joined the giddy Professor at his side of the desk and inspected the book from over his shoulder. It was different from the copy Howell had checked out from the library earlier that year. Clear as day on the page was written:

"The art of world-crossing is largely thought to be lost due to our lack of understanding of portals. It was previously thought that there were a fixed number of portals in our world, and that they were only visible at certain times through the year. In actuality, one can cross through a portal anywhere, and at any time as long as they are strong in belief and desperate in situation - they only need utter this simple phrase: restorum tecum opus magnus."

’Rather peculiar isn’t it, that a printing error would render this paragraph all but illegible save the original copy!’ Professor Galveston remarked.

‘Very peculiar indeed,’ Howell said as he continued scanning the page with increasing curiosity. 

‘I think you ought to have this book, boy - if it really is true there’s no use an old fart like me who can barely stay upright for more than thirty minutes having it is there.’ He shut the book with a loud slam, which caused a small cloud of dust to form around it, and gave it to Howell.

‘Thank you, sir - pity I’ve already handed in my thesis, else this would have made a great source.’

‘Maybe you can find some use for it in your personal life, young man,’ the Professor puffed. Time seemed to have completely escaped the both of them because they were disturbed by a loud knock, knock, knock rapping on the door, followed by a rather stressed-looking Rhys emerging through it.

‘Howell! The rugby match starts in half an hour!’ He urged.

’Shit,’ Howell said under his breath. ’Thanks again, Professor - I’ll see you at graduation!’ He exclaimed before running off, book in hand. 

While he didn’t see or hear it, Professor Galveston let out a slight chuckle at the sight of the talented student leaving his office for the last time. ‘Maybe you will.’ He sank into his chair for an afternoon nap.


	3. In Which There Are Profanities and Portals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Howell’s womanising ways finally catch up to him, he tries to use magic to get out of a sticky situation, and ends up in an even stickier one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this very short chapter! I always love hearing your feedback ☺️

By the time the boys arrived at the rugby pitch the rain had eased up, with a thin layer of mist taking its place - not the most ideal conditions for rugby, but living in Wales one got used to adverse weather. Besides, it wasn’t the weather that was worrying Howell. He and Rhys made their way to the pitch where most of the team were already waiting.

‘Took you long enough lads,’ Aled, a short but stocky player, said.

‘Yeah yeah whatever - Howell had to hand in his thesis,’ Rhys patted his flatmate on the back. Still no sign of Daffyd.

‘Well done mate!’ Mahmoud, another of Howell’s closest friends, congratulated.

‘Thanks guys. Where’s Daffyd?’ Howell asked nervously, hoping someone would say he’d called in sick or perhaps got into some kind of accident that rendered him immobile.

‘He’s just in the stands with Lydia - she said she needed to talk to him urgently or something,’ Mahmoud replied.

‘Hope she doesn’t decide to dump him right before the big game!’ Aled laughed, but this was no laughing matter, Howell and Rhys both thought as they exchanged worried glances.

‘You better warm up while you can,’ Rhys said to him in a hushed tone. ‘If he goes after you at least you might be able to outrun him.’ And Howell heeded the advice, immediately beginning to stretch his hamstrings and jog on the spot. If Lydia really was telling Daffyd about what happened, he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

‘Oi!’ A voiced boomed across the pitch. ‘You son of a bitch!’ Daffyd shouted as he edged closer to Howell and the rest of the boys.

‘Eh?’ Confused mutterings said amongst the group, and Howell knew it was now or never. Wasting no time, he darted off in the opposite direction, not even daring to look behind.

‘You fucking wanker! You bellend! Shagging my girlfriend and running away? You pussy!’ Daffyd shouted as he ran only a few metres behind. ‘I’m gonna kill you!’ He continued, adding more expletives in between huffs and puffs. 

Howell just kept running, in spite of his throbbing hangover headache and gurgling stomach - there was no time to think about that now, this was life or death. Taking a peek behind he saw that Daffyd was gaining on him, still shouting about the various and exceedingly violent ways he would beat him up when he caught him, and it seemed the anger only spurred him on making him faster and faster. ‘Fuck,’ Howell thought. His womanising ways were always bound to catch up with him, as his sister had said, but he didn’t expect it to happen quite so soon. He was desperate for a way out but everywhere he looked was field. ‘Perhaps...no,‘ he thought as suddenly those words Professor Galveston had said to him popped into his head. ‘Well if there were ever a time to try opening a portal,’ he reasoned with himself and began repeating that phrase he had read earlier that day: restorum tecum opus magnus. At first nothing seemed to happen, but as Daffyd edged closer and shouted more profanities, he shouted the words with more vigour, more desperation, and more belief. ‘RESTORUM TECUM OPUS MAGNUS!’ He exclaimed with a boom. And suddenly, Daffyd was gone - in fact the whole field was gone, and beyond that, the whole of Wales was but a distant memory. Now, Howell was falling through the sky, with nowhere to go but down.


	4. In Which Howell becomes Howl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After opening a portal mid-air, Howell finds himself in a tricky situation, saved only by a mysterious creature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little end to this mini Howl backstory. Hope you enjoy!

It seemed Howell had gone from one sticky situation, into another, even stickier one - the Professor had certainly not mentioned that the spell could open a portal in mid-air, else he wouldn’t have tried. But now he had to play the cards he was dealt. Faster and faster he fell, until the ground below became less of a faraway sight and now one too close for comfort. Wind rushed past his ears and tangled his hair, and fear filled his heart. As he braced himself for certain death, suddenly he felt the air go still around him. Now, he was hovering about 20 feet above the ground, tethered only by the flickering grasp of a flame that bobbed in front of him.

‘What in tarnation?’ Howell took in his odd surroundings.

‘I could say the same to you!’ The fire spoke - it seemed to have a face, albeit encompassed by a mass of blue, purple, orange and green coloured flames.

Howell had to use all his strength to prevent himself from vomiting (both from the shock of the situation at hand and as a result of last night’s alcohol). ‘Where am I? What are you? How...’ he inspected the fire to find it had no body, ‘are you?’

‘That’s a lot of questions,’ the flame said. ‘I’m Calcifer - a fire demon. I was falling somewhere over Ingary and you caught me! I’m supposed to die you know!’

‘Inga-what?’ Howell said in astonishment. ‘Demon?’ They were still hovering in mid-air. ‘Could you take me down to the ground so I can get my bearings a bit?’ 

‘I can’t I’m afraid - if I touch the floor I’ll die,’ the fire made an expression that almost looked sad, if a demon was even capable of feeling such an emotion.

‘Why will you die?’

‘That’s just what happens - see I fell from the sky, like you, only difference is I fell from much higher,’ he looked up. ‘It wasn’t just me, see,’ a little flame hand reached out and motioned to their surroundings, as it seemed that thousands of stars were falling around the pair. ‘When we reach a certain age we just fall to the Earth and we’re supposed to die,’ he sighed.

‘But you don’t want to die?’ Howell said empathetically. 

‘No one wants to die, but I have to. Unless... no...’ Calcifer trailed off.

‘Unless what?’

‘Well unless I make a deal with a magical being,’ he raised a fiery eyebrow to Howell.

‘I’m not magical,’ Howell scoffed.

‘You opened a portal didn’t you?’ The demon made a fair point.

‘Well, yes,’ Howell stuttered. ‘But I didn’t even think it would work!’

‘But it did, so you must have some magic in you.’

Silence hung in the air for a moment as the two creatures weighed up their options. The demon had saved Howell from certain death, and now there was an opportunity for Howell to return the favour - it only seemed fair, he supposed.

‘This deal...’ Howell began, ‘what would it involve?’

‘Ahem,’ the fire stuttered a little. ‘You must give me something of yours.’

‘What like?’

‘Well an eye could work - maybe a hand-‘

‘You aren’t having my eyes, or my hand!’ Howell cut in.

‘Okay, okay - how about your heart?’

‘My heart? Won’t I die?’

‘Relax, I’ll keep it pumping, it just won’t be in your body.’

Howell’s heart had never really done anything good for him - for years it had pined after Lydia, and look where that had ended him up, nearly splattered on the ground in some foreign world.

‘Okay, my heart it is. And what do I get in return?’ 

‘I would give you my magic - add that to your own, which from what I can tell is already quite strong, and we could be quite the powerful pair.’

‘Alright you’ve got yourself a deal!’

With a tiny poof the little flame seemed to disappear into Howell’s chest, and a sudden emptiness came over him. Without warning, the man began to float down to the earth, finally placing his feet on the ground after what felt like a lifetime. Once there, Calcifer emerged looking almost the same, only this time with a beating blob at the base of his flames. 

‘Say I didn’t even ask your name?’ The demon enquired.

‘It’s Howell - Howell Jenkins.’

‘Hmm How, How, How,’ Calcifer tried to get the hang of the Welsh twang. ‘Howl?’ He settled into.

‘Well n-‘ Howell paused. He did quite like the new pronunciation, and it would surely be more fitting of a wizard than his usual moniker. ‘Yes, Howl.’


End file.
